


Secret, Not So Secret

by KuraraOkumura



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Exhibitionism, M/M, light SM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:19:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1724216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuraraOkumura/pseuds/KuraraOkumura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Then there's a mouth at Jean's ear, breathing onto his skin, the body behind his shifting ever so slightly to angle his face just right. And Jean shivers again – because he knows who's behind him as soon as he hears that voice, whispering a breathy "Jean" into his ear, something that has him shuddering pleasantly from head to toe.</p><p>Eren.'</p><p>Rated E for lots of naughty explicitness. x3 Yaoi, or boy love. AU.</p><p>Jean and Eren are at a jazz/rock n' roll concert given by Armin's band, and when Jean feels his claustrophobia rushing him under, Eren is suddenly there – in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret, Not So Secret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Variabile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Variabile/gifts).



> If you like my work, please like my fan page KuraraOkumura's Disciples on facebook! :D

"I can't believe I agreed to come…" mutters Jean, his arms crossed grouchily as he lounges against the bar counter of the music pub.

At his right, also against the bar, Eren throws him a dirty look and goes back to looking at the band setting up on stage, mumbling under his breath, "I wish you hadn't."

Jean ignores him, or perhaps doesn't hear him, and says aloud, "I should be feeling Mikasa up right this moment, on our date. I should be on a date with Mikasa Ackerman, and instead I'm here! Why?!"

"Will you shut up?" Eren finally hisses, whirling on him. "You've been complaining non-stop for the best of the last hour, so I don't know why you came, but if you want to leave, the door's right there, and nobody, certainly not me, is going to stop you from leaving, horseface!"

Jean snaps his mouth shut and looks away, avoiding Eren's burning eyes on him and resisting the urge to punch him. He fights the urge to pout, too, mostly because Eren is absolutely right. There's nobody stopping him from leaving, and yet he knows he isn't going to. Why? Well, that would be a sore point if you asked him. You see, Jean Kirstein might be a little, just a tiny, tiny bit, infatuated with Eren Jaeger. Hell – it isn't Jean's fault if the damn brat is fucking gorgeous, has an ass he can't help but stare at and has eyes the colour of the sea during storms and hair that just begs to be touched and ruffled and-

Jean gulps, still looking stubbornly away. Yes, well. He isn't here because of Armin, whose band is setting up on stage right this moment. He isn't with Mikasa either, who's just a cover-up date/girlfriend anyway and in fact has long guessed all about his crush on her brother. No, instead, he's here for and with a guy who possibly hates him more than anybody else on this planet, who calls him 'horseface' any chance he gets and probably thinks Jean's the ugly duckling – or horseling – but is that even a word? – and who is currently staring at him and basically all but telling him that he wants him to leave.

Jean, you are an idiot.

Eren turns away finally, mumbling under his breath about how Jean-fucking-Kirstein is just looking for attention and that fucking bastard had better not disturb Armin's performance once the concert began. Jean resists the urge to sigh. Yes, Eren thinks he's an idiot. Yes, they're constantly fighting, and that's about the only excuse Jean has to grope and touch him without Eren being suspicious of something more. And yes, it will probably stay that way forever, as it has for months already. Jean doesn't even know if Eren is straight or gay – hell, he might be asexual and against anything even remotely carnal, for all he knows! The taller man rubs his face tiredly, all his fake complaints gone.

Around them, most of their friends from school are here; Annie, Sasha, Connie, Dazz, Nate; only Mikasa is absent, having been unable to free herself from her work that day. Annie, who's a personal kick-boxing coach, luckily has very flexible hours since she makes her timetable herself, and is sitting at a table with Laurent, a student at their university who is two years above them, with Annie and Mikasa. The two of them are sipping beers quietly, their eyes fixed on the surface of their table. They aren't exactly very talkative people. There are more people none of them know at the pub; Armin's band is rather popular and enjoys relative notoriety in the city. There are people outside too, the wooden furniture sets of the pub not being enough to accommodate everyone, and Jean knows that once the band is announced and everyone rushes in and stands to see the band better, the place will be packed full and you will have to battle with ten other people just to move an elbow. Jean isn't a fan of crowds normally, and his friends know that as well, so none of them but Mikasa – and Annie, the bitch being way too observant and freaky for his liking – have any idea why he even came – why he nearly always comes to these venues, secretly in the hope that Eren will be there, which he usually is.

Finally, Armin's head pipes out from behind the stage curtain, breaking into a nervous grin at the sight of his friends all there and waiting for him. He waves at them, and Eren waves back enthusiastically, a wide grin of his own on his face. Armin's eyebrows rise at the sight of Jean, and then he seems to be shaking his head bemusedly. By the knowing look he shoots at Jean, the latter has to revise his earlier estimation. Okay, so maybe Armin knows as well. Dammit.

Armin disappears behind the curtain, and Eren leans towards him. "So, why are you here, anyway?" Jean shrugs non-committedly at that, still looking at the spot where the blond had been not seconds ago.

"Hey, horseface." There is something different in Eren's voice as he says this – something that pushes Jean to actually turn his head and look at him. He searches Eren's face for a moment, eyes to eyes, puzzled by what he sees. "I asked you a question." Eren raises his eyebrows at him – knowingly, Jean thinks, but pushes it away. The atmosphere has changed, from careless and relaxed to something more intense, something that has Jean's breathing growing shorter and his heart speeding up in his chest. "I asked you a question," Eren says again, eyebrows still raised, a challenge on his face as he stares at him. "Aren't you going to answer, Jean?"

Jean opens his mouth, but at a loss for words, nothing somes out. He just keeps staring and staring and staring as Eren stares right back at him, waiting. Just waiting. Waiting for what?

Suddenly the lights dim down, and Jean whirls his head around, startled, as the familiar high-pitched whine of a mic being turned on fills his ears. On stage, the pub owner, Erwin Smith, taps the mic, producing a couple of low, hollow, resonating thuds, before leaning in and announcing Armin's band. "The Recon Corps," he says with a smile, drowning out the low drone of whispered conversations around him. Instantly, said conversations cease, and are replaced with the scuffle of feet of people entering the pub from every side, of the scrape of wooden chairs on the wooden ground as people stand to make their way towards the stage. To Jean's left, the emergency exit door is thrown open, pouring in people of all ages who had been lounging in the back-alley, and he is pushed back, higher up the bar to where Eren was standing as people rush in to the best places, closest to the stage. Some even climb up on the bar to get a better view, only to be glared right back down by the resident bartender, Levi, a dark-brunet with a haircut shorter at the back, bangs that frame his forehead, and severe, drooping eyes that make him look constantly bored and scary as hell.

A few minutes later, Jean stands with his left side pressed against the bar, having managed to hold on to it, where he knows he can get drinks if he gets thirsty or warm during the concert, and lean on if he feels lazy. Once you're lost inside that crowd, it's impossible to move; you have to stay where you are for the whole duration of the performance, which is a good hour and a half. As he expected, the pub is full, and he's already beginning to sweat nervously from the foreign bodies pushing none too gently into his own from all sides. Somewhere in front of him, music begins to play, Armin's saxophone wafting up in one long, sustained note, getting stronger and stronger before breaking off into an introductory solo of low and rumbling notes, alternating excited staccatos and breath-taking legatos. Jean takes a deep breath. The heat is already beginning to get too much, and his hands are gripping the side of the bar so tight the knuckles are turning white and his fingers are throbbing painfully.

Suddenly there is space at his back, and Levi's deep, bored voice at his left behind the bar surprises him out of his stupor. He opens his eyes – he doesn't even remember closing them – and looks to the side at the bartender, who is leaning on top of the bar slightly behind him.

Levi nods at him. "I'll keep them away from you – get them to give you some space. You gonna be okay, Kirstein?"

Jean exhales, relieved that at least part of the pressure is gone, and nods gratefully back at the other man. "Yeah. Thanks, Levi."

"No bother," the bartender says, and returns his attention to the crowd.

Feeling a little better now, Jean directs his gaze back to the stage, or what he can see of it over the crowd's heads. Luckily, he's taller than most, and can easily make out the high-arcing curve of Armin's saxophone, level with the heads of the other four band members. The band's two guitarists have joined in, along with the female singer, Nathalia, who is now buffing away enthusiastically. The drummer has settled for a low, quick brush of cymbals, the ring and rhythm of it underlying the other three instruments, hypnotic. This is what makes the success of the Recon Corps; the mix of jazz and rock n' roll that unites different generations and gets the younger ones to discover something other than the usual distribution of recent records. They're young, they're new, they're talented, and they love what they do. The perfect recipe.

Suddenly, Jean starts, a hand not his own weaving itself through his fingers, prying them from the wood of the counter that he's still gripping desperately. He makes to turn, but there's a body at his back where there wasn't been before, a hard chest and strong legs pressed against him and that hand interweaved with his fingers, almost tender, and all of these things combined hold him irremediably to the spot. Jean shivers as a second hand makes contact with his waist. He shoots a look to the side, seeing Levi stuck in a staring contest with the person at his back. The bartender appears to be considering something, and after a second, he nods at the other person, meets gazes with Jean for only a second, then walks away. Just like that. The crowd moves back in, now that the frightening black-haired man and at-times security guard isn't there to hold them back, and the hand at his waist slips forward slowly, stopping over his stomach as Jean's own hands come up to stop it. Neither of them make to move; for some reason, having someone so close to him, holding him so near they are almost like a single person, somehow lessens the anxiety of the crowd. Treating ill with ill seems be the way to help his claustrophobia, it seems.

Then there's a mouth at his ear, breathing onto his skin, the body behind his shifting ever so slightly to angle his face just right. And Jean shivers again – because he knows who's behind him as soon as he hears that voice, whispering a breathy "Jean" into his ear, something that has him shuddering pleasantly from head to toe.

Eren.

It's Eren behind him, his slightly shorter, leaner body pressed to his, every one of his curves meeting his perfectly, knees encased into the back of his, hand in his, the other on his stomach, eliciting tiny bolts of pleasure to run down the length of his body and right back up to pool into his groin.

It's Eren behind him – and what the fuck, Eren? What are you doing here? What are you doing, pressed up against me like that, and Jean can feel the pressure of Eren's crotch against his ass, and what are you doing?

And Jean says this, voices his question, cursing himself at the breathy quality of his voice, wishing he could sound angry or disgusted or surprised, and maybe he does sound surprised but none of the other two things, that's for sure. And Eren rocks forward, just a tiny bit, but it's enough for Jean to moan, just moan like a girl and choke on anything else he might have wanted to say, even though there wasn't.

"Isn't it obvious?" Eren whispers in his ear, breath warm and hot and hot on Jean's neck. "What am I doing, Jean? I'm taking advantage of you."

And they shouldn't, they really shouldn't, but these words send a chill through Jean's body, and his breath comes out in a rush as his eyes widen and he looks down at his feet as though they are the most interesting things on earth. "You're not-" he begins, but he hasn't realised that his hands, which had been holding Eren's hand over his stomach, have loosened their grip as they spoke, and Eren's hand is snaking down said stomach, against his navel, past his belt, and that's when Jean stops speaking because Eren's hand is suddenly there, cupping him through his jeans. Jean moans through gritted teeth, his entire body tensing and his head rolling back as his back arches and he rocks onto his tippy toes with the shock of the touch. His hand shoots down to pry Eren's off, but as he covers the other's man's hand with his own he instantly realizes his mistake, and he hasn't even started to try to peel it off him when it squeezes him, squeezes hard. His lower belly explodes into fireworks, and he rocks back again, not so much moaning as shouting into his closed mouth this time at how good it feels; and Eren is still squeezing, harder and harder, staying there until on instinct Jean's pulls his hand up to cover his mouth and then suddenly Eren's hand relaxes.

Jean pants, thinking it's over, and he's about to say something again, to demand an explanation, but he's wrong, it's far from over, and Eren starts massaging circles into his groin, his palm cupping his crotch and rotating, occasionally squeezing gently and sending sparks of electricity shooting up his spine, and Jean is forced to shut his mouth. He considers trying to grab that hand again, but thinks better of it, and not knowing what to do with it grabs on to the smaller man's forearm, accompanying it in its rotating movements despite himself.

"Eren," he groans with an effort, and there's a thousand things he wants to say, starting with, 'somebody will see us', to, 'why the fuck are you doing this to me, Eren?' But nobody's seeing them, mostly because they all have their gazes turned to the stage, and the place is packed so tight that there are bodies blocking the way anyway, so nobody sees them. Yet Jean can't help but be nervous for some reason, can't help but shoot nervous, edgy glances around them as Eren Jaeger massages his crotch and balls and sends lances of pleasure up his head, fuzzing up his thoughts and making him into a stupid, stuttering mess. It might have something to do with this being done in public, because he's never done that before, or it might just have something to do with the person behind him, but Jean doesn't think he's ever felt this good from just a touch, not ever.

"That's a sexy face you're making, Jean," Eren chuckles behind him, and Jean can't help but blush brightly because it's probably true, isn't it, and fuck, what the hell is Eren doing – his hand is dipping into his jeans, and Jean starts to panic but it's too late and he's being cupped again, roughly, but still through his boxers, not skin on skin and Eren is such a fucking tease.

Someone must be seeing them, must be looking at them right now, but Jean looks around and no, there's nobody looking at them. They're still alone, alone in the entire world in the middle of this packed concert, surrounded by people who don't exist because they haven't been seen. They haven't been seen so this can keep going, right?

But wait-

"Eren- Eren what are you- ngh-" And he's stopped again by Eren's hand, squeezing and sending a jolt up his groin. Jean can't believe this is happening, right here right now, he can't believe Eren's hand is on his dick, feeling him up through his boxers, and its Eren, goddammit- "Eren- Eren-"

That hand stops, but stops in a position that's highly compromising. Eren's index and middle finger are pushed right down into his balls, the other three fingers squeezing in a way that makes it incredibly hard for Jean to concentrate on what he wants to say.

"Yes, Jean?" says Eren in his ear, breath fanning against his skin, deliciously warm as his teeth rasp against the taller man's neck. "Something you'd like to say?"

Jean would swear if he had enough breath, because there are a hundred things he'd like to say, and Eren knows all too well that he can't speak because of that godforsaken hand over his crotch.

"Well?" Eren croons into his neck, tongue lapping out and sending chills into him as he sucks between words. His hand starts moving again, massaging in circles, slowly, so freaking slowly, and it's infuriating, because however Eren knows that Jean wants him all he's doing now is teasing him into the lowest circles of Hell. Jean wishes he'd just get it over with, but he's just not able to speak, he can't speak, can't move, can't do nothing but stand there and endure the torture that this man behind him is making him go through, and it's so good at the same time, too, isn't it? So good he'd like to melt into a puddle and then evaporate with the heat of the place and never have to show his face again, how can he ever look Eren in the face again after this? It's like Eren knows how to push all his buttons, how to be so close yet so far it's frightening in its intensity, how to touch him enough that he's writhing and panting for more but not enough that he'll betray their actions by being too loud or obvious, though Jean's certainly sure that if anyone were to look in their direction right this moment it would be indeed obvious what's going on, wouldn't it?

Another jolt rattles his dignity, his composure, and as he rocks backward and into Eren's body he suddenly feels it, feels that hard, hard bulge pressing into his ass from behind. And it's Eren, it's Eren Jaeger who's gotten hard from just touching him, who's now pressing into his ass and obviously looking for some relieving friction of his own. But – what is he doing? – that hand moves up, leaving his member twitching and throbbing with need, and with a flick of the hand the button of his jeans goes undone. Jean hasn't realised until now how tight those jeans had begun to feel, but as soon as some of that pressure is gone he can't help but sigh and relax just the tiniest bit. His zipper's next in line, pulled down by Eren's agile and long and slender fingers, and Jean's just starting to think about protesting this when that hand, those fingers, graze against the naked skin of his navel once again, and suddenly he knows exactly what is going to happen.

And does he even want to stop it? Probably not.

So Eren slips inside his boxers, through coarse and dense curls, scraping the tip of his member, hardened and standing at-attention and leaking copiously against his stomach, before finally, finally, he takes the base in hand.

Jean's entire body tenses, goes rigid with shock and pleasure mixed, and fuck-

And Eren, Eren Eren-

And shit-

There's no going back now, no turning back as Jean feels himself drawing closer and closer to his impending release with each rough stroke of Eren's hand on his dick, up, down, up, down, tight and fast and rough, pulling him forward and tugging him downward, inevitably, inexorably. And Jean can feel his entire body following the movements of Eren's hand, moving into it, fucking that hand just as surely as Eren is rocking into his ass right now, so fucking hard, his breath on Jean's neck getting rougher and shorter and warmer with each passing second.

And you know what-

You know what-

Suddenly he's coming, tensing all over again, his hand, the one that's still held tightly by Eren's, going up to push against the back of the other's head as his dick throbs and throbs and spills its load over his stomach, cum dripping down his skin, into his boxers, covering Eren's still-tugging hand, some over-spilling messily against the front of his pants. And as Jean, finally freed from that tugging hand once he's done, whirls around, all he can do is frame that pretty face, with those green-blue eyes the colour of the sea during storms, and that chestnut brown, ruffle-worthy hair, all he can do is frame that face between his hands and bring his mouth down to meet Eren's. The brunet's hands come up to grasp him, tugging his hips forward into his, flinching at the intensity of the sensation produced when their two crotches collide just as surely as their tongues. Jean dips in, lapping the other man up like a dog that hasn't seen water in forever, greedily and hungrily.

It's Eren's turn to gasp now, his moment of control over too suddenly as he's suddenly the one with a problem that needs taken care of, and jean is the one who can help him. But Jean pulls back, looks down at him and asks-

And asks-

And the look in his eyes is so intense that Eren could die right now and be content with it-

He asks-

"How did you know?"

And Eren laughs- He can't help it- Because that question seems so ridiculous in the face of their current position, in the face of just how much Eren wants him- But he answers anyway- Because he knows it's important for Jean to know-

"Mikasa," he breathes into the taller boy's mouth. "She saw me staring at you and told me everything."

Jean shudders. Everything?

"Everything," Eren whispers, as though reading his thoughts, and dives forward, dives onto his lips and steals them for another breath-taking kiss.

And even though Jean can hardly think at this point, still he can't help but wonder- But think- Eren- Eren feels the same way? And Mikasa guessed and that's why she told him because Jean knows that she would never have said anything if she hadn't known for sure that this – or something like it, anyway – would happen.

Was it written all over their faces then? If it only took Mikasa a glance to figure it out, it must have been obvious.

Jean laughs. He'd been sure he'd been keeping his secret well, but now he's not so sure. Does it really matter though? He doesn't have to keep it anymore. That's what Jean thinks as he looks tenderly down at Eren's face, still framed between his fingers, a crooked smile on both of their faces, a crooked smile that says, though neither quite realize it-

Finally. Finally.

With one last chaste peck on Eren's swollen lips, Jean lets go of him, then takes his hand, the one that's covered in his cum. Something twitches in his gut, something primal and carnal, and Jean thinks that Eren definitely is not asexual, that he's got proof right there, and thank hell for that. "Let's go clean this mess up, shall we?" he says, and Eren nods at him, with that same, lustful glint in his eyes.

Unseen and unheard, Jean tucks himself back in, zips and buttons his jeans – though he's sure he won't stay that way for long – and, taking Eren's clean hand in his, pulls the brunet along behind him, playing fists and feet to dig them a passage to one of the pub's three toilets.

Behind them, the music still plays, enthusiastic and joyful. Armin's saxophone still rumbles and leaps, slides and breaks off. The world still turns, but the two men making their way to the bathroom might as well be in their own little universe, for how little they actually notice anything around them.

They certainly don't notice them, those brilliant grey eyes staring at them from across the room, watching them as they disappear into the cubicle, the grey eyes of Annie Leonhardt. Nor do they notice the brown haired girl with a ponytail and earrings in the form of potato spuds talking excitedly to her friend with the shaved head, who stares straight ahead while his face goes redder and redder by the second, Sasha Blouse and Connie Springer.

It turns out, as the two men would find out later, that their secret hadn't been so secret, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work, please like my fan page KuraraOkumura's Disciples on facebook! :D


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